


All That Remains

by manic_intent



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Evil Twins, Multi, That postcanon fic where Harry has an evil twin brother, inspired by that Mark Millar interview, postcanon fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:25:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4944940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Merlin would later tell it, Eggsy had not only managed to ruin Harry Hart’s life, but he had also managed to ruin Harry’s <i>funeral</i>. In Eggsy’s defense, <i>certain people</i>, not naming names, could’ve quite possibly told him ahead of time that Harry Hart had an honest-to-Gods fucking identical twin brother. </p><p>It wasn’t <i>that</i> hard to slip into polite conversation during the wake, was it? Something along the lines of ‘Hey Eggsy, I know you’re broken up over Harry being dead, but his brother’s going to attend the funeral, and just so you know, they look exactly alike, so don’t scream like a banshee in the cemetery and startle the priest into falling into the grave, just saying’. <i>Something</i>. Eggsy would’ve been satisfied with a memo, even. Or a <i>text</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Remains

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a Mark Millar interview discussing Kingsman 2, where he said that he would like to bring Colin Firth back, and jokingly mentioned the possibility of an evil twin.  
> …  
> Yes please. O_O 
> 
> **DISCLAIMER** : Unfortunately I think at present I might not have the energy to pull this out into a longfic after all. So here's something that's more like a proof of concept? ^^;;

I.

As Merlin would later tell it, Eggsy had not only managed to ruin Harry Hart’s life, but he had also managed to ruin Harry’s _funeral_. In Eggsy’s defense, _certain people_ , not naming names, could’ve quite possibly told him ahead of time that Harry Hart had an honest-to-Gods fucking identical twin brother.

It wasn’t _that_ hard to slip into polite conversation during the wake, was it? Something along the lines of ‘Hey Eggsy, I know you’re broken up over Harry being dead, but his brother’s going to attend the funeral, and just so you know, they look exactly alike, so don’t scream like a banshee in the cemetery and startle the priest into falling into the grave, just saying’. _Something_. Eggsy would’ve been satisfied with a memo, even. Or a _text_. 

As Percival solemnly helped the priest out of the grave and Roxy glared icy daggers at Eggsy over the scattered guests – half of whom were looking around wildly and half of whom had surreptitiously started to draw any number of concealed weaponry – Eggsy could only gawp like a fish at the latecomer. Harry stared at Eggsy with a mild expression of surprise, frozen in the middle of approaching the guests from the back. He looked a little paler, and his face looked strange without the black-rimmed glasses, a little unfinished, somehow. He was wearing black tie, mourning gear, and one hand was tucked into a pocket, showing the faint gleam of a black watch bracelet. 

Eggsy found himself getting dragged through the guests by his elbow. Merlin’s jaw was set tightly, and when they got within arm’s reach of Harry, Merlin said quietly, “Thanks for coming, Mister de Vere.” 

“Can’t exactly miss my brother’s funeral, could I?” 

Disoriented, Eggsy continued to stare, mute. Now that he was close up, he could see the differences. Harry’s brother had an easy smile that had all of Harry’s charm but none of its warmth, and there was something cold in his eyes, dispassionate: he glanced at Merlin, then at Eggsy, assessing them both with clinical efficiency. Although his suit was also tailored, it had been cut in a more Continental style, two buttons, slim fit, vented pockets. But the accent was the strangest of all. It was British at the heart of it, but without Harry’s crisp precision. Eggsy had heard accents like this before, during his all-too-brief stint in Marine school: kids from Marine and Army families who had spent their childhood growing up in bases all over the world had accents that were never quite here nor there. 

“This is Eggsy.” Merlin introduced him, and Eggsy limply shook hands. Harry’s brother had soft hands, with none of Harry’s calluses. “The new Galahad.” 

Eggsy blinked at Merlin, but ‘Mister de Vere’ merely chuckled. Again, the sound had all of Harry’s charm, none of the warmth. “You people work quickly. Call me Henry,” Henry told Eggsy, then seemed to dismiss him, glancing back at Merlin. “Sorry I’m late. I came here straight from Heathrow. Had a devil of a time with the traffic.” 

Merlin introduced Henry to the other guests, while Eggsy sat in the second row and tried not to feel dazed about it all. Roxy patted his knee comfortingly. “I got a bit of a start too,” she whispered. “I knew he had a brother. I didn’t know it was a _twin_ brother.” 

Eggsy nodded, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything that the priest was saying, or even Merlin’s carefully prepared eulogy. The casket behind Merlin was empty: even with Kingsman’s resources, they hadn’t been able to find Harry’s body. The world was in turmoil, not just from the brief activation of the SIM cards but from the unintended consequences of setting off all the head chips all at once. Many of the world’s governments were holding emergency elections, leaderless, and even though activation had been short, the death toll in gun-rich America had been catastrophic. They’d have had to wade through a mountain of bodies just to find Harry’s. 

Not that Eggsy had been willing to accept that. But he had been vetoed by the new Arthur, and that had been that. He snuck a glance over at her, still resentful. She was sitting with Henry in the front row, a compact, no-nonsense woman in her fifties, with a short head of pale blonde hair, verging on bone white, her mouth small and pursed into a flat line. Like the previous Arthur, she was an accountant. Unlike the previous Arthur, this one seemed to be completely made of flint, and was just as unforgiving. She stared at the priest as though daring him to fumble his lines, and afterwards, as the empty casket was lowered into the soil by the remaining Kingsman agents, all paltry four of them, she glowered at them too. Finally, she shook hands all round and marched off, trailing her harried assistant. 

Behind Eggsy, Hector let out a sigh of relief, and got prodded in the ribs by Percival. “She’s not so bad,” Roxy told them, if with a faint smile. 

“She’s a ball-breaker, that’s what she is,” Hector muttered, and got prodded again, hard enough that he yelped. Percival’s expression remained carefully bland. 

“The board’s not particularly going through a period of confidence with us right now, that’s all,” Percival said, unruffled. “We _did_ , after all, fail one mission - Lancelot’s - and complete the second one in a way that’s absolutely disrupted the world order. _And_ we lost two agents to the missions, then the rest of the agents _and_ Arthur to Valentine.” 

“I’m thinking of retirement,” Hector said morosely. 

“Nonsense. Where else will you be able to indulge your pyromaniac tendencies?” 

“True.” Hector let out a sigh. “The things I do for my art.”

Percival clapped Hector on the back. “See you all back in the base for the Gawain selection.” 

Roxy nodded at Eggsy, then wandered off behind Percival, heading to their car. Alone, Eggsy stuck his hands in his pockets and tuned out the sounds of the guests leaving, frowning at the fresh grave, instead. It didn’t feel right that the grave was empty. Maybe he could take some leave. Pop over to the USA. Emergency martial law had been declared, but surely going in wasn’t going to be hard, with Kingsman’s connections. 

“It’s a strange world,” said Not-Harry behind him, and Eggsy had to fight not to flinch away. Henry had come up quietly, and was now beside Eggsy, studying his brother’s headstone, inscrutable. Eggsy chanced a glance around, but Merlin was further away, talking to the leaving guests. 

“You uh… you guys, were you guys close?” Eggsy asked, then he blushed a little. “Umm. Sorry for your loss.” 

Henry offered him a slight, sharp smile. “No. We weren’t close. The last we spoke was the first in five years. It was only a short while ago, in fact. He asked if he could pretend to be me for a night, and borrow some money.” Henry lifted a shoulder into a faint shrug. “I presume that I won’t be seeing that money again.” 

Eggsy had reviewed Harry’s mission files on the way to Valentine’s mountain hideout, painful as that had been, just for procedure’s sake. Come to think of it- “De Vere wasn’t a made-up cover,” Eggsy blurted out, startled. “When he was seeing Valentine… That’s what you’re talking about? Being you for a night?” 

“Well yes,” Henry said, amused. “The usual sort of background cover that Kingsman cooks up for its purposes is good, but Harry needed something solid in a hurry. I suppose I should’ve known that this would happen.” 

“You don’t seem… well.” Eggsy said slowly. “Um.” 

“Sad?” Henry shrugged again. “I’m surprised that he lasted this long in Kingsman, to be honest. He’s had his share of close shaves. He was growing a bit long in the tooth to be a field agent.” 

Henry’s cavalier attitude to his own brother’s _death_ felt disorienting, somehow. Upsetting, even. Blindly, Eggsy tried to change the topic. “You, um, you seem to know a lot about Kingsman.” 

“Of course. ‘The Secret Service’,” Henry said ironically, “But bound to no government, no country. Kingsman is a secret service that hires out a very specialised skillset to people who can pay for it. This normally tends to be the so-called billionaire class. I’ve used Kingsman myself once or twice. Its work is usually exemplary.” 

“His uh, his body’s not here,” Eggsy said uncomfortably. Maybe this was Henry’s way of grieving, or something. Carrying on, keeping calm. Whatever it was, Henry had the right to know that the coffin was empty. “It’s in the States. Sorry. We couldn’t find it. Merlin said-“ 

“Yes. I’m afraid that the United States isn’t a great place to be right now. Or conduct business,” Henry let out a sigh. “Thirty-four percent gun ownership in a population of over three hundred million meant a great deal of casualties during the short period of global insanity, a wildly disproportionate number compared to other developed countries. And with the President and his cabinet dead, there’s a power vacuum at the very top. I’ve been making my own inquiries, but they haven’t gotten anywhere.” 

“Maybe you could talk to Arthur,” Eggsy suggested hopefully. “I mean. You’re the brother and you used to be a client. She could maybe arrange for a mission.” 

“Why would I…” Henry paused, and studied Eggsy intently for a moment, as though suddenly struck by a revelation. “Were _you_ close to Harry?” 

To his mortification, Eggsy blushed. “No. Well. Not really. He kinda. Sponsored me into Kingsman. Helped me out of a bad turn. But. Not really. Wish I was – er, that is, I wish I got to know him better. As. A friend,” Eggsy added lamely, feeling increasingly gauche under Henry’s flat, clinical stare. 

“All right,” Henry said thoughtfully at last, to Eggsy’s surprise. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

“You – you will?” 

“He was my brother after all.” Henry clapped Eggsy’s shoulder. “Do you have plans tonight?” 

“Plans?” Eggsy asked, a little puzzled. “Plans for what?” 

This got him another sharp smile. “Dinner. It’d be nice to get to know my late brother’s friends.” 

“Uh, well, sure. But I mean. You probably should ask Merlin. Or Percival.” 

“Seven sharp, then. Shall I pick you up from the shop?” 

“Sure.” Eggsy said, still bewildered, and Henry nodded to him and ambled off, heading towards a waiting black car, further off the grass. Eggsy watched him go, still disoriented, and when Merlin finally finished up with the guests and came back to get him, Eggsy said, “That was so weird.” 

“What?” Merlin frowned at Eggsy. “Did Henry say something to you?” 

“Gonna have dinner with him, apparently.” 

Merlin pulled a face and said, in a stilted voice, “I know you’re a grown young man, but you _are_ a young man, and so it falls to me to-“ 

“Whoa bruv,” Eggsy interrupted, blinking at Merlin. “We gonna have some sorta watch-your-knickers talk? ‘Cos I’m a full agent now, Merlin. I’m a big boy. An’ he just wanted to talk to a friend of Harry’s,” Eggsy added, which now sounded particularly weak to his ears. As he had told Henry himself, Henry should’ve just asked Merlin or Percival. 

“Of _course_ he did,” Merlin said dryly. “Just watch yourself with that one.” 

“He didn’t seem that bad.” 

“Henry’s very much like Harry,” Merlin agreed, “If you amplify the ego by a hundredfold, the self-importance by a thousand, and the ruthlessness by a million.” 

“So they were. Not close.” 

“Not at all, and I do believe they hated each other.” Merlin sighed. “Just watch yourself, all right?”

“It’s all right, _Mum_. I can take care of myself.”

“Young agents. Why do I waste my breath.”

II.

“It’s been arranged,” Henry told Eggsy as they sat down in the Savoy Grill. “Arthur will brief you tomorrow morning. You can fly to New York with me if you like or head there on your own.”

“Whoa.” Eggsy froze in the middle of putting the napkin on his lap. “You work fast.” 

Henry smiled thinly, and there was something different about his smile now, in the dim light of the restaurant; something a little predatory. Eggsy had seen it before, on _Harry’s_ face, when Harry had locked the doors in the pub and turned around, and he squirmed a little in his chair, suddenly feeling hot in his suit. Merlin had been right: Henry was not Harry, that was obviously true. But he was also very much like Harry - in all the wrong ways. 

“That’s the nature of business.” 

“So uh, if you don’t mind me asking - what do you do? MI6, maybe?” 

“God no,” Henry laughed, a dry, humourless bark. “I’m a businessman.” 

“Really?” Eggsy stared. “Like… Wall Street sort of business?” 

“Not particularly,” Henry said, amused again. “It’s not very exciting. Real estate and commodities, that’s my trade. Pays the bills.”

The maitre’d approached, and they ordered - or rather, Henry ordered for the both of them, his tone so matter-of-fact that Eggsy sat mutely through it with no objections. Besides, he was still new to what he thought of as the ‘high life’, and this was the first time that Eggsy had ever been to a posh restaurant out of Kingsman training. He had been vaguely worried that there would be a hundred sets of different cutlery to puzzle out, and had been relieved to see just three; as to the wine list, all that Eggsy knew of what to order was whatever Kingsman recommended for its agents for certain occasions. 

When the menu was cleared, Eggsy asked, tentatively, “So how did Harry end up in Kingsman and you in business?” 

“We grew up on a couple of military bases and returned when we were old enough for Eton,” Henry said briskly, “After Eton, Oxford. Harry went to MI6, while I went on to Wharton. What about you?” Henry asked curiously. “How did you end up in Kingsman? Because - forgive me for saying this - but you’re not quite like the usual Kingsman crop.” 

And so Eggsy ended up telling Henry the whole sorry tale about his father, about the car theft-plus-evading arrest-plus-vandalism that had landed him in jail, about Harry bailing him out. Henry smiled and nodded at appropriate times and the rib-eye was _awesome_ and before Eggsy knew it he’d had two glasses of the red and was starting to feel tipsy, because clearly Eggsy had no self-control where even Harry-lookalikes were concerned. 

Eggsy coasted through the rest of dinner reminiscing about trying to qualify _into_ Kingsman, and by the end of it, outside in the chill, realized that he’d forgotten to actually talk to Henry about _Henry_. “Sorry,” Eggsy told Henry unsteadily, as Henry’s black Maserati pulled up at the Savoy’s driveway. “Blabbed about myself all night. Must’ve been dead boring.”

“To the contrary,” Henry smiled at him, “I had a lovely evening.” 

For a moment there, Henry sounded so much like Harry that Eggsy felt his chest clench up, aching, and it took him a few moments before he was steady enough to even think of a response. “Right. Uh. Good to hear.”

“How did you get here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Took the tube.” Eggsy said, because Kingsman might’ve been good enough to provide Eggsy with a house and a company car, but his mum had asked to use the car tonight, to visit a friend with Daisy. 

“Allow me to give you a lift home, then.” 

“Oh. Um. I don’t wanna be a bother.” 

“Not in the least,” Henry said, pressing a palm lightly to the small of Eggsy’s back, and smiled again when Eggsy tensed up, fighting another flush. He got into Henry’s car, because it was easier to do that than finding some sort of dignified excuse, and it was just as posh inside as it was out: leather seats, sleek chrome fittings. At the driver’s seat, whoever it was driving them was tall, legs folded awkwardly under the dash, wearing a black uniform with a black cap. “Where to?”

Eggsy told the driver the address, and sat back in the plush leather, feeling a little numb. He was regretting having come for dinner, regretting having asked Henry to talk to Arthur. This wasn’t mourning Harry and moving on. This was digging his nails into the wound and keeping them there. What Eggsy had felt for Harry had been a confusing welter of admiration, infatuation and hero-worship, and there was none of that here, not even transplanted. His Kingsman-trained instincts found Henry unsettling. While Harry had walked through the world like a big cat, unruffled and self-assured, Henry walked as though he _owned_ the world, any part that mattered. There was something imperious about _his_ confidence that Eggsy found at once both fascinating and repellent.

Henry said nothing during the drive back, watching London pass through the windows, one hand on his lap, the other resting on the arm-rest of the car door. Once, his phone went off, which prompted him to unlock it, frown, then send off a flurry of texts, but soon he was just watching London again, something abstract in his stare, like studying a puzzle. Eggsy found that he was relieved when they pulled up at his street.

“You can let me off here,” Eggsy suggested. “I probably should walk off some of that wine. See you in New York maybe, yeah?” 

“See you in New York,” Henry said, with his sharp smile, and reached over to pick up Eggsy’s palm, pressing it between his. His hands were warm and dry, confident. Soft. “Thank you for having dinner with me. And for being there for my brother at the last.” 

Eggsy could not quite tell if Henry was being sincere: his voice was too dry, too flat. “Sure,” he said slowly. “Thanks for havin’ me, I guess. And talking to Arthur.” 

Henry let go of his hand, lounging back in his seat. “It was my pleasure.” 

Eggsy had a feeling that he was being watched, all the way as he got out of the car, closed the door, and headed down the pavement. Behind him, the Maserati pulled away, back down the street, and Eggsy turned, exhaling into the chill. In his ear, Merlin said dryly, “By the way, you have a meeting with Arthur tomorrow morning at eight.” 

“You saw all that?”

“Contrary to popular agent belief, the Merlin department doesn’t actually watch you lot all the time. We have better things to do.” Merlin said tartly, though he then added, more soberly, “Watch yourself in New York. It’s volatile down there. The whole country’s a mess.” 

“The whole _world’s_ a mess.”

“We did what we could.” Merlin said, a sentiment that Eggsy had heard time and again since the mountain base, and Eggsy bit down on a sigh. “Get some rest. See you in the morning.”

**Author's Note:**

> Normally my longfics have some sort of buried (or less obviously buried) social point to them that I would hint at over the course of the fic. Since I'm not sure if I'll be continuing this one, here were the ideas: 
> 
> This fic was originally inspired by the gun control debate in the USA. Disclosure: I grew up in a gun-free society and then went to live in Australia, which enacted strict gun legislation and mandatory buyback after a mass shooting. I thought about writing something like this after reading this vox article: http://www.vox.com/2015/10/3/9444417/gun-violence-united-states-america  
> As Obama said, there's a gun for every man, woman and child in America. The consequences of Valentine's global psychotic break, which were enough for Michelle to nearly batter down a door with an axe, would probably be somewhat more pronounced in gun-rich countries. 
> 
> The secondary idea was to explore the money-skewed nature of Presidential politics in the USA by having Henry be a naturalised citizen who is part of the top percentage of the billionaire class that buys candidates, like so: http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2015/09/sheldon-adelson-is-ready-to-buy-the-presidency.html and maybe base the rest of the fic through this concept in martial law post-Valentine America.
> 
> Basically the point of this fic would've been to explore what Kingsman 2 could have been about. And yes, Harry would turn out not to be dead, etc.  
> \--  
> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent


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